Pompeii
by orbythesea
Summary: "In the last second before her world splits open, she smiles. Then she realizes that she saw what she wanted to see." Pre- and post- scandal, almost entirely pre-series. A/P, shades of A/W if you squint. Many, many thanks to freiheitfuehlen.


_Once I had a sadness, the sadness turned to trust  
__The trust turned into ashes and to lawyers and dust  
__A century, a day  
__This was Pompeii.  
_-Dar Williams, _This Was Pompeii_

She is checking voicemail when her world splits apart.

It is her least favorite time of the year; the holidays are long past, spring is still too far off to get excited about, and the months of cold are starting to wear on her. The weekend's snow has turned to slush, dirty puddles filling cracks in the roads and pot holes in the parking lot. She thinks she's been cold since October.

Peter started her car for her this morning, on his way out the door.

_("Stay there," he whispered, moving behind her while she reached for a pan to rinse. He pressed his body flush against hers, her hips hitting the edge of the sink as he leaned in to nip at her ear._

_"Peter," she cautioned, leaning back against him. He was warm. Solid. "I have to get the kids to—"_

_"You sure?" he whispered. His fingers snuck down to splay against her belly, teasing gently at the hem of her sweater. His thumb pushed it up just enough to brush against bare skin. She shivered, closed her eyes. They really didn't have time for this._

_"Very." She twisted around to face him, leaned in for a quick kiss. "Go. You're gonna be late."_

_He backed off then, some of the light slipping out of his eyes. "It's miserable out there," he said. "Where are your keys? I'll warm up your car."_)

She smiles, is shaking her head to clear the memory away when a pickup drives by, too fast. It rumbles through a puddle and she has to jump backward to avoid being hit with a spray of dirty, oil-stained ice water.

Inside, there is a line. There's always a line on Monday mornings. She steps into place and glances up at the television. The Dow just keeps falling. She reaches for her phone to call her accountant, notices a missed call from Peter. She smiles as the phone vibrates in her hand and _1 Voice Message_ pops up on the screen.

She glances back up at the TV as she dials in to check the message. It's 9:49. Her eyes slide over to the crawl. _Chicago SA Peter Florrick Busts Prostitution Ring._ In the last second before her world splits open, she smiles. Then she realizes that she saw what she wanted to see. _Chicago SA Peter Florrick Busted in Prostitution Ring_ scrolls by.

"Next!" The cashier's voice is irritated, impatient, but she can't process it. Her phone clatters to the floor. "Next!" The woman behind her brushes by her, mutters something about not waiting for crazy people.

Someone else picks up her phone, presses it into her hand. "You okay, Ma'am?"

She blinks. The crawl has moved on. _Hillary Clinton Takes First Trip Abroad as Secretary of State. _

"I— " She can't find her voice. She turns on her heel and runs. She can't breathe.

###

The answering machine is flashing an angry red sixteen when she walks through the door.

Everything else is as she left it, but there's nothing comforting in that. The morning's pan is in the drain rack. The hum of the refrigerator is deafening. Her heart is pounding, still trying to beat its way out of her chest. She wishes she could just reach in and pull it out, useless, broken thing that it is. Her feet are wet. She must have stepped in that puddle as she raced back to her car. The scarf she gave Peter their first Christmas together is on the hook next to the door. She buries her face in it and sobs.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_("It's a surprise," he insisted, gently tying his scarf around her eyes. "Don't you trust me?"_

_"You know I do." She smiled, closed her eyes behind the soft warmth of her blindfold. "I just don't like— "_

_"You'll like this one," he promised, pressed a kiss against the tip of her nose._

_The phone rang. "I should get that," she murmured. _

_"Mmhmm," he leaned in for a real kiss, soft at first, then hungry and insistent, spreading fire through her veins. She opened her eyes, but she still couldn't see him as she broke the kiss. "Peter, I should get that."_

_"Don't move," he breathed. "I'll be right back— " _

_She felt him move away, heard him retreat into her bedroom. The answering machine clicked on. "Alicia, it's me, I'm kind of, um— I need you, Big Sis, so if you're there can you— "_

_She tugged the scarf off to grab the phone. "Owen, sorry, what's— ?"_

_"You can't tell Mom or Dad," he blurted out. "I mean you really can't— "_

_"What's wrong, Owen?"_

_"I kind of got arrested," he said. "Again. But it wasn't— It's just pot, and I only had— "_

_"Stop talking." She reached for a pen. "Don't say another— Where are you?"_

_She looked up to see Peter, roses in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, jaw clenched in anger, in disappointment. _I'm sorry,_ she mouthed to him. _I'll explain later. _He shook his head and looked away.)_

She shakes her head and answers. "I— Yes?" She shouldn't have picked up. She's not ready to talk about it, not ready to think about it.

"So, _I_ had a great date last night." Her brother's voice is sing-song, unexpected. It doesn't fit. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing. "Alicia, you there? Sis?"

"I'm here, I— "

He just keeps talking. Date last night. Chris. He might not be the one, but he's the one right right now. Alicia's not listening. She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw against the blind rage bubbling up inside of her, cold and hungry. Vicious. _My world is falling apart_, she wants to scream. _How can you be so selfish?_ She doesn't scream, though. The words die in her throat. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that he probably doesn't even know. His world is a hopeful place. It's last night's date. It's entitled students and exams to grade, new restaurants and nicotine patches. She bites her lip, furious with herself for the hasty judgment, for the assumption of malice. She feels dizzy, feels sick, feels everything spinning out of control, out of—

"Owen, I need to call you back," she says, cutting him off. Her voice is far away. "I— I'll call you back."

"Is everything— ?"

She flips her phone closed before he can finish the question. She could have told him, she realizes. Could have screamed. She could have cut him off to say— to say what? _CNBC thinks my husband has been…? _ She shakes her head, wills the thought to die before she can finish thinking it. Wills it not to be true.

It might not be. It was a few words on a news crawl. Maybe she misread them after all.

She was checking her voicemail. Her fingers can't move quickly enough, they feel heavy, clumsy. It takes two tries to get her password right.

"Alicia, look, I— give me a call, when you get this. _Before_ you— My wife, I am _talking_ to my _wife_— Look, Babe, it's crazy here just— Give me one minute— I love you. You know I love you. You might hear some things, but they're not true, I promise. I— Call me."

She starts to breathe again, dials his cell.

###

Wine helps. It keeps her hands steady, keeps her doubts at bay. She takes the house phone off the hook. After her second glass, she puts the bottle away, remembers the dry cleaning, still uncollected, the grocery list tucked into her purse. She grabs her keys, starts to head out, then stops when she spots Bonnie and Linda standing at the foot of her driveway. It will be better tomorrow. They can order takeout tonight.

Her phone buzzes in her hand. _Turn on channel 8_, pops up on the screen. She doesn't think to check who sent the text, just turns on the TV to see Peter pushing his way through a sea of microphones. He looks strong, determined. A news van pulls up in front of the house. The television says Peter is denying everything, the anchor is treating his denial as an admission of guilt. She hears a key in the front door, gets up just in time to see Grace wordlessly race past.

_(He slipped out after cake and presents and a hug from Grace. Alicia watched him go, phone held up to his ear. For a minute, she let herself be angry with him for leaving, then she swallowed her anger, felt guilty instead. He works hard because he has to. Grace was back on the ice, skating four-abreast with her friends and didn't seem to begrudge him the hour. Alicia had no right to her anger; it was selfish. She pasted on a smile and returned to the edge of the rink, smiled at Brittany Atkinson's mom._

_"They grow up so quickly, don't they?" Mrs. Atkinson asked._

_Alicia nodded, eyes following Gracie as she made her way around the rink. "I still have to remind myself that she's not a baby anymore," she admitted. Grace passed her, dropped Brittany's hand to wave, grinning as widely as her little face could manage. For a moment, Alicia wished that she could stop time, freeze her life in that one split second. _

_Zach shook her out of her reverie. "Hey, can I get money for the snack bar? Dad was supposed to give me some, but I think he left.") _

"Gracie?" she raps gently at her door.

"Go away," Grace calls back. Alicia can hear the tears in her voice, and it's too much.

She presses her forehead against the cool of the door, tries to keep herself from breaking. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. It's all too much. She takes a deep breath and answers. "Hi, Peter."

The more he insists that its a lie, the more certain she is that it's not.

###

Peter doesn't make it home for dinner, and she's almost grateful. She doesn't know how to navigate this, doesn't know if she should pretend everything is okay for the kids or encourage them to keep talking. She doesn't know if she believes him, doesn't know if she trusts him to give the kids time to process. She is numb, exhausted. Her dinner is getting cold on her plate and she takes a bite, not tasting it. She feels sick when she swallows. More than anything, she wants things to feel normal, but there are no jokes over dinner, no stories about the day or squabbles over who's not passing the rice fast enough. Instead, there is quiet. Zach's playing sullen and stoic, Grace's eyes are red from the tears she wouldn't let Alicia brush away.

"Are you sure Dad's coming home?" Grace whispers, finally breaking the silence.

"He's coming home," she says, trying to be reassuring, to be upbeat. "I promise. He's just— he's got lawyers and advisors and the press. He's just trying to keep it from becoming some big thing."

Zach snorts. "It's all over the internet, Mom. It _is_ a big thing." He won't look at her, but she can see the hard line of his jaw and he looks so much like Peter that it hurts.

_("He's you," she whispered, looking up in awe. "His eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, he's— he's _you._"_

_Peter smiled, leaned in to press a kiss against the top of her head before beaming down at the baby, all seven pounds, five ounces of him. "No," he whispered. "He's you." She started to protest, but he shook his head. "He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.")_

"Zach." She takes a deep breath. "I don't want you looking at that stuff," she says, finally.

He rolls his eyes at his kung pao chicken.

"Zach, Grace, listen to me," she says. There's an intensity to her voice that she doesn't recognize. "I don't want you looking this stuff up or watching it on TV. I want— I want you guys to hear the truth. From me, from your father, I— " She blinks back tears. She can't let them see her cry. "In this family, we tell each other the truth, and whatever anyone is saying— "

"So it's a lie?" Grace asks, eyes brightening with hope.

"I— " She shakes her head. "I don't know," she admits.

"Yeah, right," Zach mutters.

"I don't," she says, more firmly. There's steel in her voice now; Zach's head snaps up. "But I love you, and your dad loves you. And when I know, I— I'll tell you. Your father and I will tell you." She looks Zach dead in the eye, refuses to let her gaze waiver. So maybe that's the trick, then. Replace her tears with iron. "Okay?"

"Okay." He nods, and he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just shakes his head. "I'm really not hungry. And I have homework. Can I be done?"

"Okay," she says, after a moment. She shoots him a bit of a smile. "I love you."

He stops to kiss the top of her head on his way to clear his plate. She bites hard on the inside of her lip to keep breaking down.

"You okay?" she asks Grace.

She's not, and Alicia can see that, but Grace takes a deep breath and nods. "I'm good," she says, as if she's just made a conscious decision. "Can I be excused?"

###

It's after ten when he finally walks through the door.

She is on her second bottle of wine. She hears his car pull up, feels the gust of cold air when he opens the door, but she doesn't look up from the newspaper spread over the top of the kitchen island, the one she's halfheartedly trying to read. She doesn't acknowledge his presence until he's right behind her, a hand coming up to touch her shoulder. He forgot his gloves this morning and his fingers are like ice. She shrugs him away, eyes darting up to meet his, a silent warning. _Don't._ He looks tired, defeated. She knows how he feels.

"Hey," he whispers, sliding onto the stool next to her. "It's not true. Alicia, look at me, _this_ is not true."

His eyes are deep and dark, warm with worry, with love. She knows him. She searches his face, desperate to find anything that will tell her what to trust. "You keep saying that, Peter, but I— " she shakes her head, words catching in her throat. It's just as well. What would she say? She used to be able to read everything about him in the curl of a smile. Now she's not sure what to believe.

His eyes dart away for a moment, and he takes a deep breath. When he meets her eyes again, her skin prickles at the change. She can see his resolve spread over his face, watch the determination spread from his toes, up his spine, along his jaw and into his eyes. "Alicia." He's not defeated, anymore. "I need you to hear me." He takes her hands in his, holds on tight. "I love you. And this isn't true." His gaze doesn't waiver.

The air is thick, heavy. The clock ticks away the seconds. Finally, she nods. This is Peter; this is her life. "Okay," she says. He would never betray her like this. Would never betray them. She shoots him a tiny smile. "Okay," she repeats. She wants to cry with relief, with embarrassment. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that he would do that to her? It's ridiculous. It's so ridiculous that it's downright comical.

_("Are you sleeping with Will Gardner?" _

_She froze for a moment, didn't know what to say. _No,_ would have been the obvious answer, would have been the truth. She burst out laughing._

_"I'm serious, Alicia. This morning, after you left, your roommate told me you're at his place more often than you're here this semester. So, I just have to ask, are you—?"_

_"No." She leaned in to steal a quick kiss. "Peter, listen to me. Will's my friend. We study together. You're my boyfriend. We make out when I should be studying. See the difference?"_

_"I don't know," he murmured, pressing kisses along her jaw. "Maybe you should show me.")_

"Peter, I— " He pulls her into his arms, and she goes willingly, holding on as tightly as she knows how. It's not close enough. She needs more, starts to push his coat aside and his eyes go wide for a moment before he kisses her. It startles her at first, but then she opens her mouth to him, feels his fingers in her hair, hot against her scalp.

"Alicia," he breathes against her mouth but she shakes her head.

She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want apologies or explanation or denials. She just wants him close, wants to pull him deep inside of her, past skin and bone and all the way to her heart. She wants him_, needs _him. She needs him with some deep, primal force that she can't explain, can't push aside, can't suppress. She needs to mark him, needs to prove to the world that he is _hers_, only hers. She has never needed anything so much in her life. She leans in to suck at that secret place where his jaw surrenders to his ear, nudges him towards the stairs. "Upstairs," she pleads. "Let's finish what we didn't have time for this morning."

###

There is a call, in the middle of the night. He slips out of bed to take it and when he comes back he leans in the doorway, just watching her. She watches him right back, wonders if he realizes that she's awake. "Peter, what's— ?"

"Childs got a Grand Jury to bite on corruption," he whispers, blinking in the dark. "I'm going down to let him arrest me tomorrow."

"Peter—?" She sits up, stares. It never even crossed her mind that was an option. "What's going—"

"It's Chicago," he interrupts. "It doesn't mean— You know how Grand Juries are in Chicago. This is Glen Childs making a play ahead of the next election. He just wants— He wants the photo op. Me in handcuffs, splashed across every television screen in Cook County."

"So it's all politics?" she asks.

_(The campaign office was loud, busy, and everything that her life was not. She found it oddly thrilling, sitting in the office next to Adam, dialing women's groups, school principals, domestic violence advocates. "Peter cares deeply about that," she would say. "I can assure you, it's one of his top priorities." Adam thought everything was one of Peter's top priorities._

_She didn't much care for him. He was too slick, too smooth. She didn't trust him._

_"He's good, Alicia," Peter said when she brought it up, tentatively, on the way home after a speech. "And no one's better at bringing in money than Adam."_

_"Yes, but at what price?" she asked. "When does dialing for dollars become lying?" _

_Peter shrugged. "Do you think it's a lie?" he asked. "Do you think protecting kids, protecting women— do you think those _aren't_ my priorities?"_

_"No, I do, I just— How many top priorities can you have?"_

_Peter laughed. "It's politics, Babe. It's just what you have to do before you can do good.")_

"It's all politics," he confirms. "But, there's good news." He smiles, eyes glistening in the dark. "Politics, the way Glen plays politics, it's about how things look. He wants the pictures, so the arraignment will be easy. I'll be in and out in an hour."

She nods, hugs her knees to her chest. "Come back to bed," she whispers.

"It'll blow over soon," he whispers. "Thanks for believing in me."

She almost asks, w_hy wouldn't I?, _but she doesn't. Still, it gnaws at her. _Why are you still trying to convince me?_ She doesn't sleep much, that night.

###

Childs gets his perp walk, and she watches it on television as if it's happening to someone else. He moves quickly, doesn't acknowledge the cameras, but she thinks he looks good, strong. She wishes she could be there, but was adamant. "I don't to give it any more attention than it deserves. I don't want you getting caught up in it," he said.

She hears the charges in the indictment for the first time, each described and interpreted by some legal commentator on one of the networks. Official Misconduct. Bribery. Obstruction of Justice. Conspiracy. Compounding a Crime. Soliciting a Prostitute. None of this is blowing over.

"We'll fight this," he promises her when he calls. "I'll fight this."

She un-mutes the television when he hangs up. The legal commentator throws the story back to the anchor for some breaking development. She's not naïve enough to hope that they're about to say that it's all a mistake, but it's still the first thing that comes to her mind. She shakes her head, turns up the volume to hear the anchor warn viewers that the clip they're about to play is of an adult nature.

The world crumbles for the second time in two days

"Does she do this for you? Does she?" "Oh, God, please, you are— "

_("— Amazing," Peter murmured, catching her wrist after court._

_"I thought I saw you skulking back there in the corner." She grinned. "It was just an evidentiary hearing. Your buddies over there in the SA's office just keep making it easy for us."_

_"We wouldn't make it easy if you'd stop getting the judge to exclude to every damn piece of— "_

_"We only get to exclude evidence when you try to make an end run around the Constitu— " The baby kicked, hard, and she grimaced, hand moving up to rest against her belly._

_"You okay?" his concern was palpable, and she laughed._

_"Your son thinks my ribs are his personal punching bag today," she said. "And I'm better in court than I am in this particular negotiation."_

_"Really?" he asked. He pried her fingers away, letting his own hands take their place, warm and soft. "Give your mom a break," he whispered, gently rubbing her belly. "There will be plenty of time to make your point in a few months."_

_"Peter, people are staring," she whispered, embarrassed. _

_"Let them." The baby kicked again, a hard jab right up against Peter's palm. "Amazing," he breathed.)_

She turns off the television, but she doesn't let herself cry.

The phone rings. The phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing. A CNN van joins the local stations. She feels sick, feels trapped.

"It's not true," she told the kids on the way to school this morning. "That's not what the internet says," Zach countered.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and decides to make a plan. The first thing she does is unplug the WiFi. It takes her a few minutes and a poorly written manual to figure out how, but she manages. The phone keeps ringing. She moves the TVs from the kids rooms into the hall closet. The phone keeps ringing.

When she closes her eyes, all she sees is blonde hair and Peter's mouth.

She takes the phone off the hook.

###

The kids get home and go wordlessly to their rooms. She should go to them, but she doesn't know the right words to say. Maybe there are no right words. "It's not true," she told them this morning. She can't say that anymore.

Zach comes back downstairs a moment later. "The WiFi's down," he says, irritation obvious. "And my TV's gone."

"Yes," she says. "I— I think, for a little while, I think it's better _not_ to be bombarded with— "

"So you're punishing me," he says, folding his arms over his chest. "That's so not fair, it's— "

"No," she says. The steel is back in her voice. "No, I— "

"Where's my TV?" Grace interrupts her. "You can't just _take_ my TV."

"Okay. Family meeting. Sit, both of you."

She pours herself a glass of wine, sits across the table from her kids. "I don't— I don't know what you— " She takes a deep breath. This isn't a conversation she knows how to have.

_(She curled up on the sofa, tugged her legs to her chest and closed her eyes as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. The world seemed so much smaller, suddenly, but at the same time too big. Everything went quiet, save the roar in her ears. She didn't hear the door open, didn't hear anything until he pulled her into his arms, wiped hot tears away with his shirt sleeve._

_"Alicia," he breathed. "He was too young."_

_"Yeah." She didn't know what else to say to that. "I have to pick up the kids." She took a deep breath, pulling herself together. "I— I don't know how to tell them."_

_He reached for the phone. "Jackie can do it."_

_She shook her head, but he dialed anyway. "Hey, Mom, I need a favor." He rubbed a hand over her back, soft, gentle circles as he asked Jackie to get the kids, told her the news._

_"I don't know how to tell them," she said again. "He was just here last week, I— I don't know what to say."_

_"I can do the talking," he offered. She curled up in his arms, shook her head._

_"He's my dad," she says, softly. "I should— "_

_"Then I'll be your backup," he said, simply. "Whatever you need.")_

"Are— " she hesitates. "Are kids at school talking about—?"

"Everyone's talking about it," Zach says. "Just not to us."

"That's not true," Grace counters. "Jessie in my history class told me she saw a video of Dad with two wom—"

"Okay." Alicia's stomach lurches. She takes a long swallow. "Okay." She's quiet for a moment. "I haven't talked to your dad since— " she shakes her head, cuts herself off. She has to be strong for them. "And I haven't seen that video, I don't know if— I don't know what's true and what's not. But I know that it's better to— I don't want you finding out about this stuff from the internet, or the television. I want you to hear it from me. From your dad. I— I don't want you listening to what anyone else says, okay?"

"We can't just _not_ hear things," Grace says. "How do we just— ?"

"Okay." Zach shoots Grace a look, then meets her eyes. "Okay."

Grace nods. "Okay."

She takes a sip of wine. They shouldn't have to grow up this fast.

###

"We have to talk about this," he insists, once he's home. He is rubbing at his wrist and she wonders if it's sore from the handcuffs. A hundred years ago, she used to see clients do that. "I need to— "

"I don't want to hear it," she whispers. "Peter, I— " There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and she hates herself for them. She looks away.

"Alicia— " He shakes his head. "I'm going to talk," he says, flatly. "You can listen if you want, but I need to say— I want to fix this. Whatever you need from me, whatever I can do, we can fix this."

She pours herself a glass of wine. She doesn't pour one for him.

"And I— I'm resigning." He hesitates, as if waiting for her to respond.

She wants to, desperately. She wants to ask what that means for them, for the mortgage and the kids and his pension. He's waiting for it, but she's not inclined to give him what he wants. Not tonight. She takes a long, slow sip.

"Then I'm going to talk to the press," he says. "The lawyers and the consultants are still working out the details, but it'll probably be a press conference— "

He swallows, hard. "I need— I need to ask you," he whispers, reaching for her hand. She pulls away to refill her glass before he can make contact. "I need to know if you'll be there with me."

_(The smallest of the Florrick for State's Attorney t-shirts reached almost to Grace's knees, but she insisted on wearing it anyway. "It's for Daddy," she said, stubbornly sticking out her chin. "For good luck." _

_"Oh, well, if it's for luck…" Alicia grinned at her. Peter didn't need luck. Peter was up by twelve points. Peter was going to win, not because he was lucky but because he was good. Even the campaign and its endless phone calls and late night meetings hadn't stripped her faith in that, in him._

_"So you remember what Daddy said, right?" she asked. "After everyone starts clapping, he's going to give a speech and you have to stay with me until he gives us the secret signal, right?"_

_Grace nodded. "And then he's going to give us hugs and kisses!"_

_Alicia laughed. "Yes," she confirmed. Then you get hugs and I get kisses.")_

"I don't want the kids involved," she whispers, fiercely. "I don't want— "

"Alicia, neither do I. God, you really think— "

"I don't _know_ what I think," she snaps. "Peter, I don't— " she shakes her head, looks away so he can't see her tears. "We should keep them home tomorrow. The other kids at school, they've been— I don't want our children hearing about this from other people."

"Then we'll keep them home," he says simply. "Mom can stay with them, if you think— "

"I do," she says, softly, then shakes her head. _I can stay with them too,_ she wants to say. _I _want_ to stay with them._ She doesn't, though. She doesn't have the energy left to argue. "And I— " She takes a deep breath, forces herself to look at him, to meet his eyes. "I opened the heating vents, in the guest room. It was freezing in there, but it should be warm enough for you by now."

He blinks. She's hurt him, she can tell. It almost feels good.

"That's what I need from you," she says, willing her voice not to shake. "I— Peter, that's what I need right now."

"Okay." He nods. "Then... okay." He doesn't fight her. That's when she knows that it will never be okay again.

###

He reaches for her hand in the back of the car, and she pulls away. The window is cold against her forehead, and she closes her eyes, tries not to think. She almost manages, until she feels his hand against her shoulder. "We're here," he whispers. She didn't even realize that the car had stopped.

Outside, pushing through flashbulbs and microphones and reporters who are probably trespassing in the parking garage he wraps his arm around her. She knows that he means to protect her, but there's nothing comforting in his touch. His fingers are gripping her bicep too tightly and it hurts, everything hurts. She wonders what it would feel like to pull away. She tries to turn and flee but she can't turn thought into action. It's as if the link between her brain and body has been severed.

"Alicia." They're through the doors now, and his hand is gripping hers, hard and tight and cold. "Come on, it's time."

_("Alicia, it's time. So with the next contraction I want you to— "_

_"I can't." She shook her head, gritting her teeth. "I can't— "_

_"Yeah, you can," he whispered, pressing a kiss against her forehead. _

_"I'm so tired." She wanted to cry. "Peter— I'm sorry, I— I can't."_

_He reached for her hand. "I know," he whispered. "I know. But you're doing so great, and you can do anything you set your mind to, Babe. Just squeeze my hand, and I've got you."_

_She squeezed his hand and pushed hard against the burning and the exhaustion and the pain. _

_"Told you," he whispered. "Just like that."_

_He kept whispering, kept coaxing and cajoling and praising. By the time Grace was finally born, his hand was black and blue.)_

He doesn't apologize. She wasn't expecting him too. She heard him running his speech last night when she padded downstairs for a drink. He uses her name as he asks the world to respect her privacy. He talks about forgiveness as if it's just a matter of course. But he doesn't apologize. Peter never apologizes. She never really noticed that before.

When she slaps him, she is shocked by how satisfying it feels.

Her hand stings, but she doesn't let him see that. She straightens her jacket, straightens her back. She feels taller.

The feeling doesn't last.

###

"I would advise you to wait."

The office is sun-filled, an unsettling cross between cheerful and sterile. Her jacket sleeve stands in stark relief against the white leather of arm of her chair and it hurts her eyes.

"Mrs. Florrick?" The lawyer — Steve Thompson, she reminds herself — Steve Thompson is watching her. His expression is gentle, but she can see the impatience in his eyes.

_I'm paying you in six minute increments,_ she wants to remind him. _If I want to pay you to let me think, just let me think. _"Yes." She swallows, forces a smile, tries to remember her manners.

"The media frenzy will die down, but if you file now it's throwing fuel on the fire." Steve Thompson matches her smile. Neither of them mean it. "This is a volatile time, feelings change quickly, new information comes out, and with both of you out of work and him under indictment— Think about it, see what happens there."

She nods. It makes sense. She would probably advise the same, if she was still a lawyer.

_("Why are you even _taking_ family law, Leesh?" Will reached over her to grab another slice of pizza. "You're never going to use it."_

_"It's on the Illinois Bar," she said with a shrug. "And I like Professor Garrison."_

_Will rolled his eyes. "You couldn't pay me to sit around and talk about marriage and divorce for two hours twice a week."_

_"Then it's a good thing you're not taking family law," she teased, smirking. "Are you gonna let me read, or are you going to keep talking?"_

_"I haven't decided yet," Will shot back. _

_"I can always go home," she pointed out, turning her attention back to her casebook. _

_"Oh, that's just cruel. You'd really leave me like that? Leave me like — " He glanced down at her notebook. "Like Adams left Adams?" _

_She laughed, in spite of herself. "Wow, Will, maybe you _should_ be taking this. Family Law 101, you can't divorce someone you never married in the first place."_

_"You know what I mean." He grinned at her, then cocked his head to the side. "You'd really divorce me over bugging you while you're trying to study?"_

_"Yes," she answered, immediate and deadpan._

_"Well, then, I'm never getting married."_

Interesting,_ she thought, and, _that's too bad._)_

"Thank you," she says, nodding again. She reaches for her bag.

"As to assets," Steve Thompson says, and she thinks it's smooth, it's so smooth the way he keeps her there, the way he can earn another tenth of a billable hour with four syllables. "We can put anything you want into a trust for your kids, name you as the trustee. That will keep all the assets out of his hands so they're not wasted if you do eventually file, but there are limits on what you can do with the money in the meantime. And my firm has an excellent forensic accountant, say the word and she'll find whatever accounts your husband was— "

"That's not necessary," Alicia says, quickly. She doesn't know why. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to think that there's another lie, another betrayal hiding out there, waiting for someone to dig up and serve to her. She cannot let herself be broken. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson, I— I have to go." She stands, turns, has her hand on the doorknob when he interrupts her.

"Mrs. Florrick. There's one more thing." His tone is serious, and she turns back to face him. "After infidelity, I tell all my clients the same thing. If you haven't already done it already, make an appointment with your doctor."

"With my—?" Steve Thompson lets the question hang in the air until the penny drops. "Oh."

She feels dirty.

###

She shuffles the kids into the car and back to school, carefully positioning herself so that the cameras at the end of the driveway don't get a good look. Peter promised that they would eventually lose interest. She doesn't put much stock in Peter's promises, these days. In the car, Zach asks when the WiFi will be back and Grace bemoans the ban on television. It almost feels normal, saying no, being the big, bad Mom.

At school, she hugs them tightly, reminds them to call, if they need her. They exchange a look, and Alicia gets the distinct feeling that they're sharing secret agreements that she doesn't know about. "I mean it," she says, squeezing Grace's shoulder. "I talked to your teachers. You call me. No secrets, right?"

_("No, no, nothing's wrong. Just checking in." They did this a lot, called in the middle of the day just to hear the other's voice. It made her friends jealous and their jealousy made her sad. She couldn't imagine being married to a man she didn't want to talk to._

_"Things are good here," she said. "I'm making lasagna for dinner. Will you be home?"_

_He hesitated, and she knew the answer before he gave it. "Probably not."_

_She smiled through her disappointment. Third night this week. "Should I be worried?" she teased. "Are you eating dinner with your secret girlfriend?" When he didn't laugh right away, she did. "Peter, I'm kidding."_

_He laughed, then, big and loud and warm. "No, no secrets here. Just trying to keep a killer behind bars. Hey, I have to go. I love you, you know."_

_"I do, actually." She couldn't keep herself from grinning. "I'll put a plate in the fridge for you.")_

His meeting with his lawyer isn't until three, so he'll be home, waiting for her. Pushing her to talk, trying to explain, to strategize. She feels as trapped by him as she does the press, the phone, her skin. She watches the kids walk into school and makes a list of errands to run. She starts with finally picking up the dry cleaning.

At the grocery store, she spots Lauren Chatham at the end of the dairy aisle. Alicia opens her mouth to say hello, but Lauren quickly rounds the corner. Maybe she just didn't see her.

###

His trial is a blur. She would have thought that Childs would want to draw it out, milk the press coverage for all its worth, but he seems intent on doing the opposite. She can't remember ever getting a client a trial date so soon after arraignment, can't remember justice ever being this swift.

"They're _lying_," he insists after the first week of prosecution testimony. "I _never_ took bribes, I _never_ traded— "

"Peter, I don't really care," she whispers. "I don't— I sit there in that court room and I— I count the hairs on the back of your neck, the cracks in the wall. I watch the jury watching me and the shadows moving across the floor as the day wears on. I don't— I'm there because you, me, and every lawyer on your defense team thinks its important that the jury see me there. The wife has stuck by him, he can't be that bad. I get that, that's my part and I'll play it because whatever you— Whatever happens, Peter, I don't want our kids to have to visit their father in prison. I'm there, Peter, but I'm not— I'm not actually listening."

He's quiet for a moment. "That's probably the most you've said to me at one time in months," he says, sadly.

"Peter." She closes her eyes.

"I mean it, Alicia. When— I know I hurt you, I know you're angry, but when did you stop _talking_ to me?"

_("I miss you," he whispered, voice soft and warm. "It's only been two days and I miss you."_

_"I know." She smiled, curled the phone cord around her fingers and couldn't stop smiling. "You can always come out here, you know, on weekends. I can study during the week."_

_"Don't tempt me," he breathed, and there was something in his voice, something hot and honeyed that made her stomach flip._

_"Come out here next weekend," she whispered. "Peter... " She tried to tease, to plead, and she wasn't sure she'd accomplished it until she heard the hitch in his breathing, even from 700 miles away._

_"But what do we do in the meantime?" he asked._

_"We talk," she said, simply. "We just... talk. Everything will be okay, we just keep talking.")_

"When did I...? Peter, you don't talk _to _me," she says. "What you've been doing, not— You talk at me, Peter. You tell me what you think I want to hear and you don't give me— _We_ don't talk. You talk, but it's just... It's just words, Peter."

"So talk to me, Alicia," he whispers, pleading. "Talk to me."

She's quiet for a long moment, and she wants to. She wants to chip away all the ice surrounding her heart, wants to trust him, to tell him, to _love_ him. "I can't," she says, closing her eyes. "Peter, I just— I can't."

###

"Verdict's in," he says, still holding the phone.

She freezes, plate halfway from the dishwasher to the cabinet. "Yeah?"

"Six hours. That's not a record, but…" His face looks ashen, afraid. For the first time, it sinks in that he might be found guilty. "Tomorrow at nine."

She swallows, hard. "Okay," she says, turning back to the dishwasher. "I still don't want the kids there."

In the morning, Grace is silent and Zach protests all the way to Jackie's, insists that he should be there, should come with them. Alicia lets him, not really listening. She keeps her eyes focused on the hard line of Peter's jaw, clenched tight as he navigates the early morning streets.

"Zach, it's not open for debate," he says, finally. His voice is low and dangerous. Zach goes quiet.

She wonders how they'll look back on this summer, when they're older. Wonders what they'll tell college roommates and friends, how they'll describe it to lovers and spouses, wonders if they'll talk about it at all. She doesn't dare consider what hindsight will do to her own memories.

_("Why law school?" She hated this question, has always hated the question. "I like to write," she began, her standard opening. "And I— I think it's something I'll be good at it. I— " She hesitated, took another swallow of beer. "I was, growing up, I was always the peacemaker, always the one to try to figure out how to keep everyone happy." It's not her standard answer, and she shakes her head before she can say more. She should probably stop drinking. "I just— I think I'll be good at it."_

_Will nodded, popped the cap off another bottle of beer. "I was supposed to be a pitcher," he says, matter-of-factly. "Then I busted my elbow and lost a season, and there's no coming back from that really. So then I was in this band. We were like, we were working on the world's first grunge rock opera. But that's not— I mean, at some point, you have to grow up, right? You can't stay in college forever."_

_"My little brother was arrested, two years ago," she blurted out. She had never told anyone that. "I mean, he was— He was high and drove his car into a lake and instead of realizing that he needed _help_, they put him in juvenile detention for three months. I guess I just— I didn't like feeling that powerless, like there was nothing I could do to _help, _nothing I could do to make it better." She shrugged. "So I registered for the LSAT, and I did well and figured, you know. So I'm here.")_

She stays in the car at Jackie's and tells herself it's about giving the kids time to be with their dad without her hovering. Peter holds them tight, clings to them as if his very life depends on it. Zach hugs back. Grace lets him hold her, but Alicia can see the hurt in her eyes, that haunted look that's been there since February. She hates that look, hates how quickly the kids have been made to grow up. Grace had heroes, once. She wonders if she'll ever have heroes again, if she will ever let herself trust enough to believe in anyone at all. She doesn't know if she's thinking about her daughter or herself. She looks away.

###

The courtroom erupts into a frenzy of voices when the verdict is read. Childs argues that bond should be revoked pending sentencing. Childs loses that argument, but he wins the request for a sentencing hearing before the end of the week.

They don't speak on the ride home. She is too stunned to find words.

His lawyers meet them at the house, spread power of attorney paperwork over the dining room table for her to sign. They are working on his appeal. She is working on clearing the fog.

The night before he is sentenced, she knocks on the door to the guest room. "Can you sleep?" she whispers, and he shakes his head. "Peter, I— " She shivers against the cold of the A/C, forcing air past her skin to cut the humidity of summer.

"Hey." He gets up, pulls her into his arms.

She starts to pull away, then shakes her head. She lets him hold her, lets herself bury her face in his chest as she holds back tears. "I'm going to miss you," she admits, surprising herself.

He smiles, warm and wide and he nudges her over to his bed. "Stay tonight," he whispers. "Please. I— I need you." She nods and he covers her lips with his own, begging for a kiss. She wants to let him, wants set it all aside, just for one night, for one hour—

_(Upstairs, she was demanding, forceful, blinded by raw need. It wasn't her, didn't feel like her, but she was too emotionally drained to be embarrassed by it. _Chicago SA Peter Florrick Busted in Prostitution Ring _screamed across her vision and she scraped her nails against his back, unsure if she was punishing him or refuting her own memory. It's not true. He just told her. It's not true._

_"Mine," she hissed, biting at his ear. "You're mine."_

_"Yes," he groaned. "Always."_

_"I believe you," she breathed as he slid into her, hard and deep. "More. Peter— " she rolled him onto his back, pushing him down against the mattress as she moved, letting herself control pace and depth and angle. It felt wanton, foreign. It wasn't lovemaking, wasn't sex. It was something more primal, something born out of need but not desire. She needed to assert dominion, possession. Needed to put the world back together.)_

"No, Peter, stop— " she turns her head away. "I can't. I can't."

He nods. "Stay anyway?" he whispers. "Just— Just let me hold you."

His arms are heavy around her, and it's so strange, sharing a bed with someone again after so many nights tossing and turning by herself. They don't sleep, don't speak, but he holds her tight, her body pressed up against his all night long.

In the morning, she smells like him and it makes her feel sick, feel weak. She turns the water up too hot in the shower, spends too long standing under the flow.

###

At first, the apartment feels cramped, claustrophobic. She misses the yard, misses the stairs, misses morning coffee staring out over flowerbeds. Still, she likes it, likes that there are no reporters peering through windows or stopping her on her way out the door. It's the first place she's ever lived that she chose for herself without consulting with roommates or Peter, and she's determined to make it as much of a home as the ever house was.

Most of her old life, she puts in storage, but at the last minute she decides to keep her bed. It's too big for the room, jutting out to block part of the windows, but she can't bring herself to let go. Not yet.

_("Mommy?" Zach's voice was urgent, afraid, tiny hands tugging at her nightgown sleeve._

_"Bad dream?" she murmured, blinking herself awake. Zach nodded, and she scooped him up, pulled him into bed beside her. _

_"There are monsters," he whispered, soft and earnest as he snuggled into next to her. "Outside. They want to eat Grace."_

_"No one wants to eat— " Her reassurances were interrupted by a piecing cry, played in stereo from the hallway and the baby monitor. Zach's fingers dug into her skin, tiny nails pricking painfully into her arm as he trembled. "No one's eating her," she promised, nudging Peter awake. "Can you— ?" she caught his eye, hand rubbing gentle circles over Zach's shaking back._

_Peter nodded and slipped out of bed, and she could hear him trying to sooth an inconsolable Grace through the baby monitor. He returned a few minutes later, cradling Grace in his arms as she screamed. "I don't think we're done with the midnight feedings just yet," he said, voice soft and apologetic. _

_In the morning, she woke to the sight of her children sleeping in the middle of the bed and Peter's warm smile, broad and bright, beaming at them, at her. "They're so beautiful," he whispered. "You're all so beautiful."_

_She couldn't remember ever being so happy.)_

The kids aren't happy about the move, but she tries to compensate by taking them shopping. They get new beds, new sheets, new posters and shelves and desks and curtains and she does her best to fill their rooms with warm things, happy things. She shouldn't spend the money, she knows. If she had the money to spend, they wouldn't have to move at all. It's just a credit card payment, though. She'll find something more to sacrifice, down the line. She wants them to have a home. She needs them to have a home.

###

They used to talk about her going back to work, after the kids started school, but somehow it didn't happen. It wasn't an active choice, it was just life. It didn't make sense. They didn't need the money, and she liked being there after school, liked the carpooling and the soccer practices. There were snacks and craft projects and homework, and she _liked_ her kids, liked them a hell of a lot more than most of the lawyers she knew.

Now, she wishes that she had gone back, even part time. There are forms to fill out to return to active status with the bar association, resumes with fifteen years of empty space.

Jackie stays with the kids when she gets her first interview. It doesn't go well. Her interviewer is younger than she is, but he knows Peter. She feels foolish and out of touch, but worse, she feels like a charity case, like she's only there because someone called in a favor.

She doesn't go home, afterward. She walks into the law library at DePaul, pulls a hornbook off the shelf and starts studying, trying to remember all the things she's forgotten. It comes back to her more easily than she expected. Maybe it never left.

_(She almost canceled on him. She would have, if he was going to be in town for more than a few days. Zach had a cold and Grace was up every two hours and she was so tired she could barely remember how to make coffee. She was glad she didn't, though, was so glad to be sitting across the table from him, drinking coffee and sharing dessert like they were back in school._

_"Hey— " he protested, knocking her fork aside. "Sharing means that you're going to leave enough for me to get a bite."_

_"You got a bite," she shot back. "We never agreed that you'd get _half_."_

_"It's implied," he insisted. "Equity demands it."_

_She snorted. "I think equity demands that the sleep deprived mother of two kids under two gets as much chocolate as she wants." She snuck her fork in to snag a bite of cake, smirking at him across the table._

_He flagged down a waiter and ordered another slice. "Problem solved," he said, laughing. "I've missed this."_

_"Me too," she admitted, eyes catching his for a moment. He was looking at her the way he used to back in school, all warmth and earnestness, sadness and longing. She swallowed. "Or maybe I just miss talking to grownups," she added, deflecting. Always deflecting._

_"Maybe." He looked away. "You'll be back to that, soon enough."_

_"No, I'm— " she took a deep breath. "I'm not going back, actually. I'm staying home with the kids for a few years."_

_Will dropped his fork and it clattered too loudly against plate. "How can you just walk away?" he asked. "Leesh, the law is in your blood, you're too good to just walk away.")_

Two more interviews and three weeks later, after Jackie has left and the kids have gone to bed, she navigates to the Stern Lockhart Gardner website, pulls up Will's attorney profile page. His smile hasn't changed, and it still makes her stomach flip flop in ways that she'd rather not think about. She twists her wedding ring around her finger, clicks on the "contact me" link.

_Will_, she begins, then hesitates. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to ask for. _It's been a while, and I'm sorry. Things have been crazy._ She gets up, pours herself a glass of wine, sits down again. _Do you remember all that time I spent proofreading your law review note, back in 2L? You told me you'd return the favor, some day. If you have the time, would you look these over for me, maybe give me a few pointers? I'm running into brick walls. Thanks._

She attaches her resume and cover letter, clicks _send_ before she can talk herself out of it.

Five minutes later, her phone rings.

"Can you come in at ten tomorrow?" he asks.

"WIll, I didn't mean— " She feels guilty, suddenly, like she's exploiting something that she has no right to exploit.

"I know," he assures her. "Alicia, I _know_, but look. We're hiring. You're good. Come in tomorrow at ten."

She hesitates, then nods. "I'll be there," she says, smiling. Something shifts, imperceptibly. It makes her skin prickle. "I'll be there."

She hangs up the phone. The world starts to fit together again.


End file.
